


Far Beyond the Sky

by AwayLaughing



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squall defeats Ultimecia, only to find himself in a place he knows nothing about, surrounded by people he does not know and he may well be dying. FtSKM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Beyond the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the Strifehart kink meme, prompt being 'Squall has geostigma'. Any faults are my own, feel free to point them out. Also, since I never mentioned it before, Squall gets geostigma for the basic reason that the lifestream sees him as an alien life form.

The final slide of metal through skin and muscle shock both the blade's wielder and its victim. They stand in silence for a moment, or maybe an eternity, neither know if they've succeeded after all and then, then Ultimecia explodes in a flash of vibrant technicolour lights.

 

Squall turns his head, shielding his eyes from the display, feeling something, the earth itself maybe, shift and turn and when he opens his eyes he is greeted with the sight of Ultimecia passing her powers onto Edea. The SeeD watches silently, trying to blink the black spots out of his vision, caused by the bright lights no doubt as he leans against one of the orphanage pillars. The more he blinks, the larger the spots get however, and soon all he sees is black.

 

He wakes to giggling, giggling and the smell of flowers and at first he thinks he's somehow back in his time, just behind the orphanage, but actually opening his eyes tells him that no. No he is not because the sky here is white and the woman staring down at him, bent slightly at the knees has green eyes and long brown hair and is dressed all in pink.

 

She is not someone he has ever seen before.

 

“You're new,” a voice says though it is not the girl's, it is a man's voice, and with some difficulty Squall manages to look in the direction it came from, a frown on his face. The man is sitting, elbows on his knees as he grins widely at Squall, sky blue eyes bright. Squall's frown deepens. “And you're quite the piece of work to, aren't ya?” Squall says nothing, looking back at the girl when she giggles.

 

“Don't mind him,” she soothes, “and don't worry,” she winks here, “you're not dead.”

 

“Yeah,” the man agrees, “think of this as a stop over, sort of.” He pauses, obviously thinking, “in fact, it's probably time for you to be off now.” He ruffles Squall's hair, grin dimming. “Good luck man,” he tells him, “you're going to need it.”

 

Then the sky is grey and the flowers are gone and Squall's body is on fire. He lays there for another moment, trying to regain his sense of, well, anything, before he sits up. This place is a wasteland, makes him think of the Estharian desert, bleak and cracked earth, black shale jutting out at random intervals. It's different, this place though, and he knows because when he finally manages to stand he sees a black mass of city off in the distance, tauntingly far, almost looking like another grouping of shale except for the smoke and smog surrounding it.

 

Squall shakes his head to clear the cob webs left from his previous unconsciousness, and then he starts walking. He doesn't know how far he gets before fatigue starts to set in, but it doesn't feel very far. It feels like maybe a minute, but it may well have been an hour, and then Squall is sweating, limbs trembling to the point he has to focus, first his right foot than his left.

 

Right, left. Right, left.

 

He's too busy focusing on something that should be simple, something so painfully mundane that he almost doesn't hear the dull roar of an engine until it's right behind him. He ignores it, keeps putting a foot forward, trying not to collapse in sheer exhaustion. Behind him the vehicle, a motorcycle he thinks, starts to slow down, the rider obviously intrigued by his presence.

 

Squall frowns, eyeing the black monstrosity and it's black clad rider, and continues, the motorcycle rolling lazily next to him. The two continue on in a sort of not really togetherness for a while, Squall eyeing the rider, the rider possibly eyeing him from behind his sunglasses, until he finally reaches a decision.

 

“Get on,” he says, voice soft. Squall frowns at that, still not turning to him, feels his own jaw set in the universal sign of stubbornness. “Kid,” the rider says, “just get on you're a mess.” Squall doesn't respond, chaffing at the title of kid. He's not a kid, hasn't been a child since he was five and he was dumped off at a military school and promptly trained to kill indiscriminately.

 

He's too busy being annoyed to notice a crack in the ground, and the next thing his knows he's flat on his face, his left shoulder screaming in pain. The rider sighs, pulling to a stop and walks up to him. Without a word the man picks Squall up as if he weighs no more than air, propping him up on the bike, obviously annoyed. Squall tries to stay awake as the world whips by, but his body aches and all he wants to do is sleep, and so, as the world whips by his eyes slide shut.

 

Cloud, who is annoyed to find the boy is a little taller than he is, is a little relieved when he passes out, slumping forward some and making it easier for Cloud to see. He spares a glance at the boy's back, seeing nothing out of the ordinary with the tousled brown hair or the black leather, though the jacket is somewhat scuffed. Huffing, he leans forward a little more, focusing on getting back to Midgar.

 

* * *

 

 It's Marlene who, while happily colouring away at a picture for Denzel, hears the familiar sound of Fenrir as it growls up to Tifa's bar. It is also Marlene who throws open the door in excitement, only to have an unconscious young man slump at her feet. In shock, she cries out, darting away as Tifa runs down the stairs, Denzel, despite calls to stay in bed, following after.

 

“What in the world?” Tifa remarks, pulling Marlene close and studying her impromptu guest. Marlene sniffles, pulling away to get closer to the stranger.

 

“Cloud left him,” she says sadly, laying a soft hand on a the boy's brow, pulling away at the heat there, “and he's sick.”

 

Sighing, Tifa manages to prop the boy up, frowning when she notices the scar across his pale face. “Denzel,” she says softly, “go back to bed please, you need your rest.” Denzel, who is clutching at the stairwell guard opens his mouth to argue, only for it to morph into a yawn.

 

“Okay okay,” he agrees, heading upstairs, “you sure you don't need help?”

 

Tifa smiles at that, making her way after him, Marlene bringing up the rear. “I'm fine Denzel, Marlene,” she looks back at the young girl, “can you go get me some water for our guest?” Nodding resolutely the little girl dashes off behind the bar to the kitchen, and Tifa makes her way to her room, wincing as she's forced to let him drop unceremoniously onto the bed. “Sorry,” she tells the unconscious boy, “you're not really that heavy but stairs are hard to manage with dead weight.”

 

The boy doesn't answer.

 

* * *

 

“It's been three days when is he going to wake up?”

 

“I don't know Marlene, he's sick, like Denzel, he needs rest.”

 

“I know.”

 

The voices that greet Squall are female, one very young the other older, and he frowns as he listens to them, trying to recall when he had the chance to fall ill. All he can recall is a blond haired man on a giant black bike, so he struggles to sit up, barely fighting back a gasp as he tries to move his left arm.

 

“Hey hey,” the older female presses gently on his good shoulder, forcing him back down, “relax, you're fine, we won't hurt you.” Squall says nothing at that, just turns his had to look at the women.

 

For a moment all he sees is Rinoa, but then he notices the differences, the longer hair and the difference in their eyes. His gaze shifts to the little girl, she's peering at him in worry, brown eyes almost level with his as she stares at him from mere inches away.

 

“Are you okay?” she says, voice soft and filled with worry. Squall frowns at her, struggling up again, this time earning the woman's assistance, though she sighs as if simply giving in. The little girl seems to take this as an excuse to climb onto the bed with him and soon she's perched on her knees looking at him expectantly. “My name is Marlene,” she says, smiling now. “I found you after Cloud saved you and brought you here.” Squall says nothing at that, flicking his gaze to the woman.

 

“Tifa,” she says softly, “Tifa Lockhart. You're,” she pauses, though only for a moment, “what do you remember? Can you speak, tell us your name?”

 

Squall just stares at them passively, trying to gauge their intentions, until the little girl leans forward, placing careful hands on his knees. “Mister?” she says softly, “can't you talk?” Sighing Squall grimaces, clearing his throat.

 

“My name is Squall,” he says simply, hoping to leave it at that. Tifa smiles at him softly, ushering Marlene off the bed.

 

“Alright Squall,” she says kindly, “Marlene is going to go get you and Denzel some soup and water from downstairs, can you eat?” Squall nods once and Marlene scampers off, calling to whoever this Denzel person is. Tifa's smile slips off the minute the girl is gone and she perches delicately on the side of the bed. “Squall,” she says to him softly, “do you know how sick you are?” Squall says nothing, his eyes narrowing at the question and she gestures to his shoulder. “You,” she shakes her head, “you have geostigma, Squall.”

 

Squall doesn't even blink at that, the name means nothing to him though her tone suggests that it is something unpleasant. Upon his lack of reaction she frowns.

 

“Do you understand me?” she demands, “geostigma.” Squall still does not react, no matter what inflection she puts on it he does not know what it means after all and she sighs again. “Do you remember the Meteor attack two years ago?” she prompts, continuing when he says nothing, “it appeared after that, it's, it's an infection, usually hits children but adults and teenagers get it too and,” she swallows, “there is no cure.”

 

Squall says nothing for a moment before his shoulder starts to twinge and he brings a hand up it, wincing as he brushes the bandages he hadn't realized were there.

 

_Cold green eyes, silver hair, a cruel smirk._

 

With a gasp Squall's entire body jerks, and he faintly hears a cry and thump, dimly registering that it must be Marlene with the soup. “Squall? Squall?” Tifa's voice is panicked and he manages to let go of his shoulder, wincing at the fact his fingers had dug into what appears to be a wound during the spasm.

 

“Squall?” Marlene's tiny voice penetrates his mental fog and he looks up, nodding at the two, eyeing the soup on the ground.

 

“I'm fine,” he manages, voice cool, and the two women nod before cleaning up the mess. Squall finally chances a look at his finger, now covered a thick black ooze, and he carefully wipes it off on the bedding.

 

No need to worry them further.

 

Tifa doesn't know what to make of her guest. He's not rude or loud, in fact he's coldly polite and may as well be a mute, which is maybe the problem. Everything she asks him goes unanswered, he won't talk about his family, his friends, where he got his scar or where Cloud found him.

 

For all his cold refusal to speak Tifa is able to learn some things. By the second day she learns he hates being cooped up, he visibly chafes under the restrictions Tifa places on him though he doesn't complain, just stares out his window, permanent frown on his face.

 

At first she thinks he must be from a bad home, at the time it seemed the best explanation for the scars on his body and his distrust, but some things don't add up. Once he got up she was able to see the measured steps, the quiet self assurance. As he sits at one of her tables, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, grey-blue eyes somewhat unfocused, as if he were thinking hard about something Tifa thinks he must be a fighter, possibly an infantry man.

 

“Squall,” she says softly, trying not startle him. She's done that once, and had almost ended up pinned to a wall. He'd apologized, actually looking embarrassing though had refused to answer her questions about it afterword. “Everything okay?”

 

Squall says nothing for a moment before draining his coffee and looking at her. “How did I get here?” he asks, and she blinks at the question. Upon the lack of response he taps the floor with a bare toe, “I don't remember.”

 

“Oh,” she says, “Cloud dropped-” upstairs a phone rings and she looks up, Squall watches her in her moment of indecision. “I should get that,” she says, “I'll be right back.” Squall says nothing once again, not even bothering to watch her head upstairs, instead getting up to pour himself more coffee.

 

Not even five minutes later she's back, and Squall notes the tenseness of her shoulders. “You wanted to know how you got here,” she says, “well Cloud must have found you somewhere,” she gestures up to the second floor, “that was his phone.” At his raised eyebrow she gives a small smile, “he runs a delivery service.”

 

Squall accepts that explanation with a grunt, and they stay in silence, Tifa wiping down the bar and cleaning the glasses. “Need help?” the offer startles her and she pauses before shaking her head.

 

“No,” she says, “I'm almost done.” He frowns at her, and she realizes he must be bored. “Look,” she offers, “once I'm finished we can scout around town, track down your parents or, or whoever you're living with.”

 

Squall shifts at that, looking uncomfortable. “I don't have any parents,” he says softly, and she blinks, “and I'm not from,” he pauses, “here.”

 

“Oh,” she says, “well, how about I show you around then?” Squall gives her a tiny confirmation nod and she smiles. “Where are you from?” she asks him, “Mideel?”

 

“Far,” is all he answers with and she frowns, placing the last glass in its spot.

 

“I'm from Nibelheim,” she offers and he shakes his head.

 

“Farther,” he adds, and she smiles at him.

 

“Well,” she comforts, “we'll figure it out. Ready to go?” Squall raises an eyebrow at her, staying silent and she laughs at the look. It says something about her life if she so used to having shirtless man in her home she doesn't even notice any more. It really says something when she allows herself to think about the sad state of her love life. “I suppose a shirt and some footwear would help,” she agrees, “we'll raid Cloud's wardrobe, you're about the same size I'd say, and you're already in his pants.”

 

She leads Squall back upstairs, turning into Cloud's office. “Alright,” she says aloud, “let's see, socks,” she thrusts a pair of plain white and grey socks at him followed by a dark tee shirt. “You probably need a sweater,” she frets, and Squall shakes his head, pulling the shirt on.

 

“I have a jacket,” he reminds her and she nods.

 

“I haven't cleaned it yet,” she tells him and he shrugs, following her and accepting his jacket as he bends to pull on his boots having fetched them from under the bed. Tifa watches him finish that and then rummage in his pockets, pulling out a chain and putting it on. The necklace, for lack of a better word, is interesting, a lion on a cross and she leans closer to peer at it. “Neat,” she tells him and he nods. “Let's go.”

 

* * *

 

 Cloud ignores Reno's calls from the balcony as he climbs back onto Fenrir, frown plastered to his face. Quickly he sets off, briefly considering checking his phone. The highway is silent, not a soul around and Cloud is thankful for it.

 

The drive to Midgar is ten hours or so, and Cloud resents that he's been called all the way out to Healen for something he has no interest in, and the annoyance simmers for the five hours it takes for him to reach the tiny town that serves as a glorified gas station for those on their way to Healen or the Chocobo farm.

 

“You're back soon,” Cloud steps into the tiny dinner, one of probably seven building in the whole place, and is greated by a larger woman with wiry black curls and a round, friendly face, “have a relative at the lodge do you?”

 

“No,” Cloud says, “just an acquaintance. Coffee and a sandwich please.”

 

“Sure thing,” the woman tells him, chattering away as she prepares his late lunch. “You from Midgar hun?” she asks him and he nods.

 

He shakes his head instinctively, “I live in Edge,” he tells her and she smiles, prattling on about her son who left to work in Midgar a year ago.

 

“He almost never calls,” she tells him as she puts down the simple ham sandwich, “but I don't blame him, I know he's been having a hard time.”

 

“Yeah,” Cloud says, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, “thanks.” She smiles at him again and he wolfs down the food, draining his coffee quickly. “Here,” he slaps a few gil onto the counter and stands, “have a good day.”

 

“You too,” she calls after him. Cloud quickly climbs back onto his bike, starting it up when he feels a twinge in his arm.

 

“Shit,” he mutters before starting up Fenrir's engine.

 

* * *

 

“Hello.” Squall looks up from his book, _A History of Oppression: The Truth About SOLDIER_ by R. Tuesti, at the sound of a young boy's voice and meets a pair of blue eyes. “I'm Denzel,” the boy offers, climbing onto a chair across from him, “how're you feeling?”

 

“Fine,” Squall says, going back to reading. It's not like he hates children, he just doesn't know how to deal with them and prefers to avoid them if at all possible.

 

“That's good,” Denzel decides, looking around, “where're Tifa and Marlene?”

 

“Don't know,” Squall says and Denzel eyes the door.

 

“Then I'm going out, Tifa worries too much so, uh, don't tell her kay? I'll be back real soon,” he says, and before Squall can respond he's out the door. Shrugging, Squall returns to his reading, the history of SOLDIER keeping him interested for all of two minutes before he sighs, setting down the book. Something seems to be warning him, telling him to go after the kid and Squall wishes he knew where his gunblade was because a particular clenching in his gut tells him he will need it.

 

“Damn,” he mutters, standing and pulling his jacket on from over the chair, “Hyne dammit.” Outside Denzel is long gone, Squall expects this much and he pauses in indecision before turning to a young woman smoking in the door of the next building over. “Hey,” he says and she flicks brown-green eyes up to him, pushing back straight brown hair from her face.

 

“Yeah?” she asks, and he gestures to the bar.

 

“The kid who lives here, the boy,” he says, “you see him go by?” She nods at that, crushing the cigarette under her heel.

 

“He went down an alley near the end of the street,” she says, gesturing to the right. Squall nods to her in thanks, heading off, walking quickly, dodging slower moving bodies. Once he nears the end of the street he starts scanning the area, pausing when he sees a gaggle of children at the end of one broad alley.

 

Squinting he steps into the shady area, steps quickening when he notices the rather large truck quickly becoming loaded with children. “Denzel,” he calls, gaining the attention of a few. One of the people who looks behind to him is a man, probably the owner of the truck, a man with cool green eyes and silver hair. The man smirks at him, picking up a little girl with a moogle doll into the back of the truck, a familiar brunet clambering up after her. “Denzel get out of the truck,” he calls, jogging up, ready to call up a guardian force if necessary.

 

The man opens the truck door, saying something to the kids left over, causing them to sigh in disappointment, still smirking, he looks up at Squall, and the teen lurches forward as spasms take over his entire back and left arm, forcing him to his knees. Images flash before his eyes, piecing together an image very much like the man who was now driving away, though the green eyes filling his vision now are crueler than the others.

 

“Sir? Sir? I'm sorry to bother you,” a voice penetrates his mental fog, and he forces his eyes to meet here concerned and somewhat frantic brown ones. “Have you seen my son?” she asks him, “he's blond, has a stripped shirt on, I took a call maybe a minute ago and then he was gone.” Squall looks at her dispassionately, gesturing in the direction the truck went as he stands on shaky legs.

 

“I think I saw him in that truck,” he says flatly, brushing past her as she cries out, returning to the bar, trying to remember if Tifa ever gave him a contact number.

 

* * *

 

 “Man,” a voice came from outside the door, jerking Squall out of his thoughts and to his feet, stance weary. “Door's locked.”

 

A deeper voice says something though Squall is unable to discern what he is saying, the deepness obscured by the door.

 

“Are you kidding me?” the higher voice says, “we can't break it down yo, she'll hand us our asses.” The second voice says something, eliciting a whine from the first speaker. “Not only do you make me carry the heavy one but now you want me to get in trouble with Tifa? Not cool yo.”

 

Wariness very much decreased by now Squall advances forward, flicking open the lock and opening the door, leaning against the door frame when the two men fail to notice him. “Just pick the lock Reno,” says voice two, a tall bald man with sunglasses on, Tifa laying unconscious in his arms, “Tifa won't even know.”

 

The other speaker is a lanky man with vibrant red hair, a vaguely familiar blond thrown over his shoulder. “She totally will,” Reno mutters, shifting the one who is probably Cloud, “damn he is heavy yo.”

 

“Then go put him on a bed,” Squall says dryly, watching as both men jump and turn to look at him.

 

“Fuck kid,” the red head swears, “don't sneak up on a man like that, 's not cool ya know.” Squall doesn't dignify that with a response, instead turns on his heel, heading upstairs. “Shit!” Reno cries, hurrying after him, “slow down kid!”

 

Squall doesn't, naturally, but the two manage to figure out where he's headed anyway and Reno gratefully dumps the blond onto one of the empty beds in Marlene and Denzel's room. Frowning, Squall turns to the bald man, watching as he places Tifa down much more carefully than Reno had Cloud.

 

“Where's Marlene?” he demands, realizing the girl is missing. Reno winces, trading glances with his partner.

 

“Someone spotted her getting in a truck with a silver haired guy,” he tells him and Squall sighs, palming his nose.

 

“Hyne dammit,” he mutters, ignoring the strange look the red head gives him.

 

“Hey kid,” the man says in an attempt at soothing him, “could you get us something to drink? I'd go raid the bar myself but we've got to talk to Cloud-o here before he wakes up and runs off.” Part of Squall bristles at the request, and he's half tempted to tell the red head to get it himself or go without, but he recognizes an attempt to get rid of him when he sees it.

 

“I'll be back in a few,” he says simply before exiting the room and heading down to the bar. Taking a deep breath he leans against the bar itself, his shoulder more sore than ever. Rubbing it he winces as the fabric of his shirt scratches at it, making him stop. Standing straight he looks around, pulling down two glasses before pulling down two more, filling those with water.

 

Pausing, he wonders what the red head and his partner want to drink before shrugging and opening the little fridge, surveying the alcohol.

 

“ _You know Commander, I think you've got the worst taste in alcohol in the world.”_

 

“ _I don't drink Kinneas.”_

 

“ _See, there's your problem.”_

 

“ _Whatever.”_

 

Shaking his head, ignoring the pang of homesickness which hit Squall blindly grabs two beers, studying the label when he hears a thump from upstairs. Looking up, even though he can't see through wood floors, Squall's grip on the beer bottle tightens and he considers heading up and listening in.

 

“ _Are you eavesdropping Mr. Leonhart?”_

 

“ _...no.”_

 

“ _Really? Than why are you skulking outside my door?”_

 

“ _I need to discuss something with Quistis.”_

 

 _A pout. “Squaall, it's_  
girl's night  
 _, you can't discuss work on girl's night!”_

 

“ _I can and I will Rinoa,” more pouting, “it will only be a moment.”_

 

Just as he is deciding against the whole thing Reno calls down to him. “Hey! You bringing up those drinks or not kid?” With a grunt he gathers the drinks, putting the two empty glasses away and trekking back up, slowly easing the partially closed door open.

 

“Here,” he thrusts the beers at Reno, turning to Tifa and Cloud, both now awake, offering the waters silently.

 

“Oh,” Tifa looks surprised, “thank you Squall.” Reno snorts, popping off the cap to his bottle with practised ease.

 

“Squall? What, your parents some of those crazy Mideel hippies?”

 

“No,” is all he says, eyeing Cloud who is eyeing him back, blue eyes not distrusting, but obviously wary. “You want this or not?”

 

Cloud studies him for another moment before accepting the cool glass, fingers brushing Squall's, sparking a twinge in his shoulder. “Thanks,” the blond mutters and Squall pulls away, face guarded.

 

“Whatever,” he replies, turning to leave, the bald man grunts his thanks as he walks by and he catches Tifa's voice as he heads down the stairs.

 

“So Cloud, is it us or a memory?”

 

* * *

 

 “Hey,” Squall looks up from the bar he's cleaning upon hearing Cloud's voice. The blond is tense as he puts the two glasses down on the table. “Kick Reno and Rude out if they get too annoying,” the blond tells him, “Tifa's asleep.” Squall nods, picking up the glasses and turning, only for Cloud to gently grab his shoulder, forcing him to stop. “Are you,” the blond pauses, “are you okay?”

 

Squall turns to look at him, face blank and Cloud half thinks the boy is probably capable of felling entire cities with a single glare. “Yes,” he says simply, and Cloud frowns, obviously not expecting that reply.

 

“You have the stigma,” he says, and Squall doesn't bother turning around this time.

 

“So do you,” he says baldly and Cloud sighs, not sure how to proceed.

 

“I'm going to get Marlene and Denzel back,” Cloud settles for this, and Squall stops his scrubbing.

 

“Good,” he says eventually and with that Cloud leaves.

 

* * *

 

 Cloud carefully props up Fenrir, absently patting Marlene's head. “Alright,” he says softly, “up we go.” Marlene lets him pick her up, giggling a little as he wraps an arm around her, digging in his pocket absently. “Here,” he tells her, passing her a pair of sunglasses, “you need these.”

 

She accepts them, smiling slightly and leaning back into him. “We'll get Denzel back, right Cloud?” she asks him and he grunts noncommittally, starting the engine and shooting off, back toward Midgar.

 

He spends the entire trip fighting his instincts, half wanting to go faster, to reach Midgar and its relative safety quicker, half wanting to slow down, keep Marlene safe. He's so caught up in his internal debate that he almost misses it, a flash of silver to his right, maybe ten kilometres from the very outer fringe of Edge.

 

He slows to a stop, almost skidding but remembering the small girl in his arms in time. “Cloud?” Marlene sounds worried and a little tired and he looks down at her, “is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, “just have to make a little stop.” She nods, accepting the reason for their sudden stop, returning to her snuggling when he starts the engine again. It takes less than two minutes to find the thing that caused the flash, and Cloud's eyes narrow when he sees the culprit.

 

He's never seen anything like it, a thin black handle supporting a smooth silver blade. It's a little dusty, having spent some time exposed to the elements, but besides that it's in good, no perfect condition. “Someone is missing you,” he tells the strange blade, pulling it out of the parched ground with a tug, frowning at the sheer unwieldiness of it.

 

“Cloud,” Marlene calls, “what is it?”

 

“Nothing,” he tells her, kicking open the front compartments of Fenrir, ignoring Marlene's gasp as he did so, looking for a place to fit the sword. Finding a good enough spot and sliding it in he kicks it closed again, putting his arm back around Marlene. “Let's go find Tifa and Denzel.”

 

* * *

 

 “ _You know, I think something might be wrong Commander.”_

 

“ _You don't say Dincht.”_

 

“ _No, no I really do.”_

 

“ _And was it the huge throngs of screaming civilians that tipped you off or the hoards of mindless monsters roaming the streets?”_

 

“ _Definitely the monsters.”_

 

“ _Of course.”_

 

Squall is half asleep, draped across a table when there's a rapid knock at the door, jerking him awake. “What?” he demands, too sleepy and in too much pain to bother with politesse. It's the girl from next door, breathing rapidly, hazel eyes wide.

 

“That kid you were looking for is in the city square, near the Shinra memorial,” she's out of breath, Squall half thinks she should leave off the smoking before he nods.

 

“Thanks,” he says, closing the door as he steps outside. She nods, looking uncertain.

 

“Look,” she says, following him slowly as he starts down the street at a jog, “something's real wrong down there you should-” He doesn't bother responding to that, simply starts going faster as the sound of screaming picks up, scowling as he has to start pushing past frenzied people to get to the small square.

 

When he gets there it's chaos, people running left and right, scaly black creatures tackling people as they try to escape, tearing large gashes into unarmed men and women.

 

“Yo kid,” the voice is familiar, high and somewhat grating, and Squall resists the urge to punch the pale face that appears, smirking at him. “This is sort of dangerous,” he drawls, and Squall feels a frown deepening rather rapidly on his face.

 

Briefly, he considers letting the rapidly approaching creature tackle the red head, a way to teach him to pay attention, but decides against it at the last minute. He doesn't even think about what he's doing, the act casting his magic more an instinct than actual thought. Reno swears as the ultima whips past him, exploding the creature into a wisp of darkness.

 

“Wha?” Reno gapes at him and Squall turns away, scanning the area for Denzel or Tifa. Not seeing them among the crowd he shakes his head, frowning as he notices the unmoving children near the monument. “Shit,” Reno swears, “fucking kids.” With that he and Rude take off, quickly going to round up some of the children. Squall considers following them, right until a woman runs past him, tears streaming down her face as she tries to escape the snarling monstrosity following her.

 

Squall leaps into action, glad for something to do, quickly he grabs her arm, pulling her behind him as he casts another ultima, quickly taking stock of what he has left.

 

“ _Hyne dammit,” heavy panting, “my kingdom for a GF.”_

 

“ _You have two equipped.”_

 

“ _Yeah, but it's not exactly like I can unleash Eden in the middle of a city centre.”_

 

_A snort, green eyes laugh despite the situation, “he's right Squall,” the yellow clad girl says._

 

“ _I know,” comes the reply._

 

He settles for using firaga, the effects not as instantaneous as with ultima, but satisfying nonetheless. Scowling he drags the whimpering woman to the nearest alley. “Here,” he says curtly, “go quickly.” She nods, taking off and he turns back around.

 

Things have changed, he notices, the place is much emptier now, he can spot Tifa standing protectively in front of Denzel, and Reno and Rude as well as the silver haired men are gone. A sound makes him look up, and he feels his eyebrows creep up as he spots the huge, strange contraption floating above them.

 

Before he has much time to think on what is going on, familiar blond on a bike skids past him, stopping next to Tifa who is huddled over Denzel protectively. The blond speaks to the two briefly before Denzel disappears. Suddenly Squall feels unusually self conscious, and instead of joining the group of fighters who have more or less cleaned up the monsters, he heads back to the bar.

He's barely in the door when Marlene pounces on him, her thin arms thrown around his hips as she buries her face into his thigh. Squall isn't sure what to do, as he stands there, arms held away from the little girl, grey eyes wider than usual.

 

Eventually Marlene looks up, eyes watery. “I thought you'd get hurt,” she says accusingly and Squall tries to think of what to say.

 

Denzel comes to his aid, barely looking up from where he's resting on a table. “He's really quick,” the boy says sleepily, “and he had materia, saved some people.” Marlene looks up at him, still attached to his hip, eyes even wider than before.

 

“Really?' she asks him, and he nods uncertainly, eyes narrowing at the way it makes the world spin. “Squall?” Marlene says, worry still in her voice, “Squall what-”

 

Squall doesn't hear the rest of her question.

 

“ _Well,” comes a faintly familiar male voice, “wasn't really expecting you.” Squall is back in the flower field, fighting back the urge to sneeze, allergies acting up for the first time since he was seven._

 

“ _Yeah, well,” Squall mutters, standing and looking around. The place is featureless aside from the yellow and white flowers covering the ground._

 

“ _How're you feeling?” Squall turns toward the voice finally, actually studying the man who is speaking to him. He's tall, maybe Irvine's height, possibly even Seifer's or taller, with thick black hair and familiar sky blue eyes. He's smiling easily, not looking at all worried._

 

“ _Fine,” Squall tells him, “why am I here?”_

 

“ _You tell me,” the man says, “I'm not in charge.” Squall says nothing at that, trying to find something other than flowers and this tall stranger to focus on. “Hey,” the man says, a hand suddenly on Squall's shoulder, making him tense. “It's okay to be scared you know.”_

 

_Squall fights back a scowl, settling for a mild glare.“I'm not scared, not really.”_

 

“ _Oh?”_

 

“ _I'm,” Squall swallows, trying to pinpoint the emotion, “I'm lonely.”_

 

_The man smiles at him, patting him once more, “you don't have to be.”_

 

“Squall? Squall please wake up?” Squall's eyes open only to find himself nose to nose with Marlene, her small hands shaking his shoulder frantically. “Please wake up, Denzel's sick too and I can't get him upstairs by myself.”

 

Squall shoos her off, sitting up with some effort. “I'm fine, I'm fine,” he mutters to her, standing shakily. He quickly spots Denzel, draped across the table, the ugly black ooze on his forehead more prominent than usual. Squall quickly goes to him, trying to check his pulse without alarming Marlene. The familiar flutter is there, frantic, almost like a caged bird. He picks the boy up, careful not to hurt his own shoulder too much.

 

He gets up the stairs, somehow, sweating and trembling and annoyed as anything at how quickly his energy has been sapped, leaving him almost useless. He deposits the boy on his bed, stopping to try and control his breathing. Despite his best efforts, he cannot seem to take in enough air, and his world keeps spinning slightly, colours just a little too bright, sounds muted.

 

Blinking he sits down on Marlene's bed, head in his hands. The little girl is saying something to him, but once again he can't seem to hear her, and so he lets himself tumble back, shoulder screaming in pain until the world goes a warm and comfortable black.

 

* * *

 

 Marlene smiles as the rain traces down the window before turning to Denzel. “See,” she whispers to the half asleep boy, “I knew you'd be okay Denzel.” Denzel smiles at her, tired, and nods as best he can while lying down.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, “you did.” Marlene's gaze flickers over to Squall, unconscious on her bed, not so much as twitching.

 

“We'll all be okay,” Marlene promises, “I know it.”

 

* * *

 

The people of Edge look up in shock as the sky flashes bright and metal flies, fear not dissipating until nothing is left of the unheralded explosion except the smell of smoke, quickly washed away by the longed for rain.

 

* * *

 

 “ _What are you doing here?” Squall doesn't look up at the voice, instead continues to study the flowers. “Squall?”_

 

“ _I could ask you the same thing,” the brunet finally looks up at Cloud who looks tired and worried and maybe a little crazed._

 

“ _I was blown up,” Cloud offers, and Squall nods._

 

“ _I don't really know how I got here,” he admits, and Cloud looks around._

 

“ _Have you seen Aerith? She's-”_

 

“ _No.” Cloud thinks for a moment before shrugging and sitting down next Squall._

 

* * *

 

 

Cloud tromps heavily up the stairs, ignoring the festivities in the bar in favour of concentrating on the small bowl of blue-green water in his hands. Entering Marlene and Denzel's room his eyes land on the bed closest to the door. Squall is still on the bed, laying on his front and seemingly dead to the world except for the shallow movement of his back. Cloud pulls a soft sponge from his pocket, setting it on the bedside table along with the bowl of water and, after a brief consideration over whether or not saving the shirt is worth it, tears off the thin tee shirt the boy is wearing. Squall doesn't so much twitch at the feeling, eyes staying closed and the smooth muscles of his back only moving to allow breath. Carefully, Cloud drenches the sponge, ringing it out slightly before rubbing gently at the painful black sore which seemed etched into Squall's shoulder and down to his lower back along the left side.

 

For a moment nothing happens, until slowly the blackness seems to ease away, replaced with tanned, healthy skin, shinning slightly with water. The whole thing takes, at most, five minutes, though it feels like an eternity to Cloud.

 

Just as he hears soft footsteps on the stairs, no doubt Tifa's worry finally winning out over her relief that Denzel and Cloud were okay, Squall shifts, and Cloud notices how his shoulders tense as he comes into the world of the waking.

 

“Hey,” he's only loud enough to signal to Tifa that all is well, and he hers her retreat down the stairs in response. Squall, shifting subtly so he can clear the bed quickly if need be, slowly turns his head, metal grey eyes landing on mako blue.

 

“You,” Squall coughs slightly, throat dry, “you don't look very blown up to me.” Cloud allows a tiny smile at that, moving off the bed.

 

“Yeah well,” he says with a shrug, “you know how it goes.” Squall nods, sitting up, stretching slightly. “There's a party downstairs,” Cloud says, “Yuffie wants to meet you, just a heads up, and Barret too, Marlene's been telling everyone how great you are.”

 

Squall grimaces, “is there dancing?” he asks suspiciously, and Cloud shakes his head.

 

“Can't dance?” Cloud asks and Squall pauses, eyes blank.

 

“I-no,” he says finally, standing, “I need a shirt.” Cloud nods, heading out of the room and into his office. Squall follows, arms crossed self consciously, glancing warily toward the voices raising up from the bar as they pass the stairs. Obviously resisting the urge to close the door he quickly pulls on the plain blue shirt Cloud offers him.

 

As the two head down to the party Cloud stops, turning only slightly toward Squall. “Hey, you're a fighter, right?” he asks, and Squall nods, aware that Cloud can see him, despite the angle. “Right well, I may have found your sword.”

 

Squall says nothing, hand tightening slightly on the railing and Cloud is fairly sure he sees the younger man smile.

 


End file.
